


Find a Little Company

by barbitone



Series: FE3H Fanfiction [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hubert Being Hubert, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Hubert feels like he’s watching himself from outside his body as his gloved hand reaches out, as he drags two fingers down the elegant column Ferdinand’s throat and pulls back his collar, revealing the love bite in full. It stands out as a livid bloom of red. There is another fading mark just underneath. It’s smaller, clearly not made by the same mouth as the first.“So it’s true,” Hubert says, because surely someone must say something. “I thought it must have only been prurient rumors. But it’s true. You’re really out there- acting like a wantonslut.”(remix ofCoping Mechanismfrom Hubert POV)
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: FE3H Fanfiction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829440
Comments: 31
Kudos: 221





	Find a Little Company

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Coping Mechanism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549984) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 



> Huge thank you to [Nuanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta) for betaing!!! This fic is much more coherent as a result :) And please check out all their amazing FE3H fics!!!
> 
> Title from Call Me in the Afternoon by Half Moon Run
> 
> You don’t have to read [Coping Mechanism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549984) first, or at all if you don’t want to :)

* * *

Hubert’s role in his Lady’s Empire is twofold- he is the silent watcher in the shadows and the poisoned knife in the dark. He keeps an eye on everything and everyone, and no one does he watch more closely than he watches Ferdinand.

It’s only logical- he is the weakest link, the one most likely to crack under the pressure of their campaign, to inevitably defect or betray them. Lady Edelgard may have accepted his unexpected oath of fealty but Hubert does not.

A year passes, then two. Lady Edelgard insists on putting Ferdinand in the vanguard despite Hubert’s disapproval. It is a vital role, better suited to someone more trustworthy, less impulsive. Hubert allows it nevertheless. He does not make a point of arguing with his Lady on the topic of tactics. He also does not mention the likelihood of Ferdinand being slain on the field of battle, which would solve most of Hubert’s problems.

Ferdinand, for his part, refuses to be slain. And so Hubert watches him.

He sees the cracks starting to form- the smiles that no longer quite reach Ferdinand’s eyes, the rapidly growing copper hair that he no longer bothers to trim. By the end of the second year it reaches Ferdinand’s shoulders, wild curls haloing his face like something out of the loathsome religious icons they’ve torn down from the walls of the Cathedral. Hubert notices the deepening shadows under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, the paling of his flesh that only makes the dusting of freckles over his skin stand out in stark relief- delicate constellations like droplets of blood over parchment.

Ferdinand hasn’t been eating. Based on the frequency with which Hubert spies him in the halls staring absently out of windows on the mid-night trek from his office to his bedroom, Ferdinand hasn’t been sleeping either.

He is wilting, just as Hubert knew he would. Because he is weak and unworthy, just as Hubert knew he was. Hubert repeats that to himself every time he feels the inexplicable urge to reach out and brush Ferdinand’s wild hair back from his eyes or demand to know when was the last time he’d eaten, or slept.

But Ferdinand is just one piece on the greater board and Hubert is ill-suited for the role of repairing broken soldiers. So he watches. And waits.

He notices right away when something changes.

Ferdinand arrives at their morning meeting with his hair in greater disarray than usual and his clothing slightly wrinkled, as though he’d slept in it. And yet the shadows under his eyes are less pronounced, his skin less pale.

When he catches Hubert watching he startles and nearly spills his cup of tea. The way he flushes and looks down is decidedly full of guilt. Hubert narrows his eyes even as his gut sinks. Here it is, at last, and to his own shock he finds himself unprepared for it.

The problem of Ferdinand is easy enough to solve. A garrote in the night, a splash of poison in a pot of tea, a timely accidental failure of equipment. There are any number of ways to do it, ways that Hubert has prepared in advance for just this eventuality.

Something makes him hesitate. His reluctance to do his duty is unseemly but in the end perhaps it’s for the best. A quiet death is too good for a traitor, especially one who has burrowed so deeply into the hearts of his companions. And _burrowed_ he has, like a worm drilling into an apple until the sweet flesh is spoiled and rotten.

Hubert hasn’t missed Ferdinand’s conversations with Dorothea, his sparring practices with Caspar and Petra, his companionable meals with Bernadetta. Worst of all is the way he’s made himself a fixture in Hubert’s own life- the comfort of their frequent late nights pouring over maps and tactics, their rare but increasingly regular meetings in the gardens for tea and coffee. Hubert has come to value Ferdinand’s advice even despite his suspicion of Ferdinand’s motives, and to have it all explode in his face like this-

It’s disgraceful. Humiliating. It lights a fire of rage inside Hubert’s heart that he does not frequently feel. It burns away his appetite and his composure, his focus on his duty.

So no. Ferdinand does not deserve a quiet death. Instead Hubert will gather evidence and expose Ferdinand’s treachery for all to see. There will be a public trial and execution, an example to all those who think to betray Edelgard’s cause.

He wonders if Ferdinand will try to lie and plead for his life or if he will walk to the gallows with his back straight and his chin held high- as befitting of a _noble._ Hubert sneers at the thought even as his gut churns unpleasantly. He feels sick to his stomach and drowns it with another cup of coffee.

He takes to watching Ferdinand even more closely, lurking in the shadows while he brushes down his horse or trains at the practice yard. Hubert is there one night a few days later when Ferdinand is practicing throwing javelins at a wooden target well past midnight. A young blonde archer from Bernadetta’s battalion comes in and Ferdinand lowers his weapon.

They speak, though Hubert can’t make out their words at this distance. The blonde blushes. Ferdinand smiles. Hubert narrows his eyes as he watches them leave, walking so closely together their hands almost brush with each step. He follows them to the barracks and that is where he loses them, too wary of being seen to keep a close enough distance.

He doesn’t know the blonde’s name, much less which room is his. He finds a comfortable niche to wait in. He’ll catch Ferdinand as he leaves. An hour passes, and then another. Hubert finds himself nodding off as he waits, and then it is dawn and he realizes he must have dozed off and missed Ferdinand altogether.

Hubert curses as he storms back to his office to chug coffee and read over reports despite the fact that his head is aching from lack of sleep.

Damn Ferdinand to hell. Hubert intends to send him there personally.

It happens again. Hubert catches Ferdinand taking late-night meetings with soldiers over and over, and never from his own battalion. Of course- the men of his battalion are already loyal to him. But if he wishes to fracture the loyalty of the others he must apply himself to it personally.

Ferdinand does so with great prejudice and Hubert seethes. The final straw is when a mage from Hubert’s own battalion seeks Ferdinand out in the middle of the night and they talk, heads bent close together and secret smiles curling their lips.

Hubert feels his hands itching, Miasma building up under his skin and bursting to break free. He turns and strides away before he causes a scene and ruins everything. He cannot bring Ferdinand’s transgressions to light without a scrap of evidence besides Hubert’s own testimony that he’s been taking suspicious meetings.

But he will not abide by _his_ mages plotting treason against the crown.

He summons the mage to his office in the morning. He is young and pale and afraid. He has red hair, though it’s washed out and slightly mousy, nothing like the glorious radiance of Ferdinand’s wild mane.

“General Von Vestra,” the mage, a young man named Arden, greets him respectfully.

“If you lie to me,” Hubert says, “I will gut you and string your intestines from the battlements.”

Arden swallows, growing even paler.

“What did you discuss with Von Aegir?”

Arden’s eyes widen, his lips parting around a quiet gasp. “P-pardon?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Hubert hisses, stalking closer to loom over him. “I can assure you, you’re outmatched. You approached him last night, in the training grounds. What did you discuss? What is he planning?”

“N-nothing,” Arden stutters, and for some reason he blushes bright red.

Hubert’s hand shoots out before he can stop himself, grabbing Arden by the throat and shoving him back against the closed door behind him. “This is your last chance,” he says, leaning closer threateningly. “Speak now or this will get very unpleasant for you.”

“W-we didn’t talk!” Arden cries out, screwing his eyes shut. “We- we fucked. That was all! I swear!”

Hubert freezes, certain he’s misheard.

“We just fucked,” Arden continues, tears building up in his eyes. “I heard a rumor he was- amenable. And I- I was lonely. And he did, he- it was- it was-” he swallows and finally looks at him.

Hubert can’t sense even the slightest hint of deception as Arden says-

“It was just one night. That was all. Please, General Von Vestra. I swear- that was all!”

At a loss of what else to do, Hubert releases Arden’s throat and steps back.

“I’ll never do it again,” Arden says, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “I swear I won’t.”

“See that you don’t,” Hubert says faintly as he turns away to drift towards his desk, sitting down heavily in his chair. “You may go,” he says with a flick of his wrist and Arden swallows hard before turning to flee.

Hubert takes a sip of long-cold coffee as he tries to gather his thoughts.

Ferdinand isn’t planning treason after all. Apparently he is- 

Fucking.

It’s absurd.

Hubert tries not to think too deeply on it as he pulls a letter from his stack of correspondence, focusing on more pressing work.

* * *

Hubert turns his attention towards the rumor mill of Garreg Mach. He doesn’t have to look long or very closely before Arden’s claim is confirmed. Ferdinand has managed to build up quite the reputation for himself among the troops. By the end of the week Hubert has overheard enough whispered conversations about the quality and expertise of Ferdinand’s hands and mouth and cock to make him want to gag.

Despite all the evidence before him, he finds it difficult to believe. Surely not. Surely Ferdinand- noblest of nobles _Ferdinand Von Aegir-_ isn’t fucking his way through the garrison. Surely he’s spending his nights waiting demurely in his room writing lovesick poetry to his future betrothed, to be selected for him by his father when the time comes.

Except his father is on house arrest and in no position to arrange any sort of marriage. Except there won’t be any point to arranged marriages at all, not once the nobility has fallen. Except Hubert has heard countless stories now, told in dark corners by one giggling soldier to another, of Ferdinand’s prowess in bed.

Surely this is better than him plotting a coup?

Somehow Hubert doesn’t feel any less sick when he thinks of one of his mages propositioning Ferdinand in the night. How does it go, exactly? Hubert can’t help imagining walking into the training yard while Ferdinand is tilting at battle dummies. Maybe he’ll hear the sound of a footstep scraping over stone and turn, pushing his sweaty curls back from his forehead. Maybe he’ll smile and cock his hip, turning just so, so that the welcome is clear.

And then-

Then…

Hubert forcefully puts it out of his mind. Clearly Ferdinand is not plotting a rebellion and therefore his actions, as inappropriate as they may be, are no business of Hubert’s.

Weeks pass. Hubert does not keep track of Ferdinand’s liaisons, burying himself in his work instead. 

He has trouble sleeping. He has trouble focusing too, his thoughts drifting towards things he has no wish to consider. Open panting mouths, hands clutching at freckled flesh, red curls fanned out over white sheets.

Meanwhile Ferdinand seems to be flourishing, becoming more focused, more steady. The shadows disappear from under his eyes and he puts on weight again, his skin glowing with health and his smiles becoming even more radiant than before.

Clearly his steady diet of cock is doing him well.

Hubert fights not to sneer every time they lock eyes. It feels like there’s a vice around his throat, slowly choking the life out of him.

He manages to keep his silence until a drawn-out meeting with Ferdinand going over battle plans. The insufferable peacock conducts himself as usual, without sign of his distasteful night-time activities. It’s infuriating.

They’re in Hubert’s room. It’s stuffy and too warm and Hubert can see the delicate droplets of sweat beading up on Ferdinand’s temples and glittering in the soft candle light. He feels a sense of vicious satisfaction at the thought that Ferdinand might be suffering even a mere fraction of Hubert’s own discomfort.

And then Ferdinand reaches up and undoes the top few buttons of his coat with one hand while pointing at a mountain pass on a map with the other.

Hubert isn’t looking at the map.

He’s looking at Ferdinand’s neck, pale skin revealed as buttons come undone. One. Two. Three.

Ferdinand is still speaking but Hubert hears him as if from underwater. A drop of sweat trails down Ferdinand’s neck, painfully slow. Hubert follows it with his eyes as it slides over a shadow marring Ferdinand’s creamy skin. A bruise.

No, not a bruise. A love bite.

Hubert feels like he’s watching himself from outside his body as his gloved hand reaches out, as he drags two fingers down the elegant column Ferdinand’s throat and pulls back his collar, revealing the love bite in full. It stands out as a livid bloom of red. There is another fading mark just underneath. It’s smaller, clearly not made by the same mouth as the first.

Ferdinand freezes in the middle of a sentence. Hubert doesn’t know what expression is gracing his face because he cannot look away from that odious mark. A stranger’s mark, daring to claim something that could never truly belong to them.

“So it’s true,” Hubert says, because surely someone must say something. Until this moment he hadn’t quite believed it, but he knows now it is true.

Ferdinand jerks back, flushing prettily as he pulls his collar closed, suddenly as demure as a virgin maiden.

“I thought it must have only been prurient rumors,” Hubert says, eyes narrowed with anger. “But it’s true. You’re really out there- acting like a wanton _slut.”_

Ferdinand recoils as though Hubert had slapped him. Hubert expects Ferdinand to stammer out a denial, try to explain himself, give an excuse. He isn’t expecting the way Ferdinand’s expression hardens and he draws himself up to his full height, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

 _“How dare you,”_ Ferdinand demands, voice shaking.

How dare _Hubert?_ How dare _Ferdinand!_ How dare he open his legs for any man who comes calling, as if any filthy soldier might be worthy of a taste of him?

“You’re comporting yourself like a common _whore,”_ Hubert hisses.

“Fuck you,” Ferdinand spits out, the curse a shock as it falls from his noble lips. “Have there been complaints about my conduct?”

Ferdinand is angry and at least that, Hubert knows, is not the sort of thing he’d share with anyone else. Ferdinand’s anger feels like a flame licking at Hubert’s skin, as painful as it is warm.

“No,” Hubert grits out. He wishes there were. He wishes he had an excuse to throw Ferdinand in the dungeons and keep him there under lock and key where no one else can touch him.

“Then I will kindly ask you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Ferdinand says coldly. He glances down at the map they’d been reviewing before taking a step backwards. “If we are done here, I would like to go.”

“We’re not done,” Hubert says. His heart is racing, his palms sweaty. He wants to reach out and grab Ferdinand by the shoulders, shake some sense into him. Ferdinand can’t- he can’t be doing this. He can’t do this to Hubert. 

“Yes,” Ferdinand says, his words clipped and final. “We are.”

He turns and storms out, and that wasn’t what Hubert wanted. He doesn’t know what he wanted, what he wants. He wants to follow Ferdinand and then-

He doesn’t know what then.

* * *

In the cold light of day, Hubert finds himself regretting the way he’d acted, what he’d said. He knows he’d been cruel. He hadn’t entirely meant it, or at least- not in the way Ferdinand had taken it. He isn’t made for apologies, but perhaps he can manage some attempt at reconciliation.

Hubert finds his hands trembling as he walks to the morning meeting, bracing himself to see Ferdinand’s face, his ire turned towards Hubert once more.

Ferdinand isn’t at the morning meeting. It’s a strange relief as much as an annoyance. Is he still angry about their conversation the night before? Or is he ashamed, and trying to save face by avoiding seeing Hubert again so soon?

Hubert forces himself to swallow his pride as he gathers his notes and heads to Ferdinand’s room afterwards.

Ferdinand doesn’t answer the first knock, but at the second the door opens wide and Ferdinand is there- disheveled and shirtless. He looks utterly obscene, his chest a collection of love bites old and new like footprints marring fresh-fallen snow. His room is a battlefield of discarded clothing and mussed sheets, and instead of blood and dirt it smells of sweat and sex.

“Have you come to call me a slut again,” Ferdinand says flatly, narrowing his eyes.

Hubert tightens his lips against a nasty remark, though it takes all his self control. He wants to grab Ferdinand and shove him against the wall, put his own mark on him and destroy anyone else’s claim-

Hubert swallows, though his mouth is suddenly dry. “The briefing for this month’s mission,” he says, shoving a sheaf of papers towards Ferdinand’s chest. “You missed the morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says tightly, flipping through the pages.

Hubert can’t help looking past him towards the bed. There is a man sleeping there, his naked back pale and muscular. His hair is a shock of black over the pillow. Suddenly Hubert hates that man enough to strangle him where he lies. Except Ferdinand is still standing in the doorway, gloriously rumpled and glaring.

“Don’t make a habit of shirking your duties,” Hubert says stiffly.

Ferdinand sneers, the expression so alien over his perpetually-smiling lips that Hubert nearly recoils. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to fit in my duties around all my _whoring.”_

Hubert swallows, looking down. He shouldn’t have said that and he knows it. He’s not one for apologies, but maybe this once he can try.

“I didn’t mean-” Hubert starts.

Ferdinand slams the door shut in his face.

For a long moment Hubert stares at it in disbelief, but finally he turns and walks away.

* * *

It only gets worse from there.

Hubert comes across Ferdinand standing with a dark-haired mage in a corridor, crowding him up against the wall. They’re both smiling, and then Ferdinand goes to his knees and pushes the mage’s robes aside and- 

Hubert can’t leave fast enough.

Another time it’s Ferdinand bending someone over a table in the library late at night, or kissing amorously in the gardens behind a rosebush. Hubert hears moaning through the door of Ferdinand’s room. He sees love bites half hidden by Ferdinand’s high collars.

Hubert can’t sleep, or breathe, or _think_ right when he knows that Ferdinand is out there fucking some nameless stranger. He can’t go on like this, he needs so desperately for Ferdinand to simply- _stop-_ and yet Ferdinand dodges every attempt Hubert makes to speak to him.

It feels like a punishment when Hubert is lying awake in bed and hears distinctive voices stumbling past his door in the hallway. Ferdinand’s laughter is muffled by the thickness of the door but it is free and delighted. There’s another indistinct voice, equally delighted and more than a little breathless.

Hubert grits his teeth as the voices pass, as he hears the distant closing of a door.

Ferdinand’s room is so close, just two doors over. And he’s in there, _now,_ with some loathsome stranger.

Hubert stands and strides out into the hall with the full intention of putting a stop to Ferdinand’s antics. It would be so easy to blast the door open and drag Ferdinand’s lover out by the hair, put him out of the monastery and the Imperial Army for good.

He pauses in front of Ferdinand’s door instead, palms resting against the polished wood. He can hear moaning and laughter from beyond. Muffled words, some sort of pleading demands.

“Fuck-” the stranger says, like it’s been punched out of him. “Ah! Right there- Ferdie, please- please!”

There’s a delighted chuckle, undoubtedly Ferdinand, and words so quiet Hubert has to strain to hear, “-easy, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you-”

Hubert breathes out, air leaking out of him like blood from a wound. He’s shaking as he lowers his head to press his forehead to the wood. He wonders who is in there. The dark-haired man from before, maybe. Maybe Ferdinand has him on his hands and knees as he fucks into him. Maybe it hurts just as much as it feels good.

He can just make out the slapping of flesh against flesh and he knows this isn’t for him to hear. He’s too much of a coward to put an end to it, so instead he goes back to his own room and presses his hands over his ears, though he’s sure anything he hears now is only a cruel trick of his own imagination.

He lays in bed and stares up at the ceiling, his traitorous mind still racing with filthy thoughts. He remembers Ferdinand kneeling for the dark haired mage in the corridor, wearing the same uniform Hubert himself wears to battle. He remembers seeing Ferdinand’s hands, so pale against the cloth, shoving the robes aside.

Within the space between one thought and the next he sees Ferdinand kneeling not for a stranger but for him- sees his own face half-hidden in the shadows of the corridor. Before Hubert knows what he’s doing he reaches down to cup himself through his trousers and gasps sharply. His cock is hard and he hadn’t even noticed.

He’s disgusted and impossibly aroused. He tells himself to _stop_ and yet all he can think about is Ferdinand chuckling, saying- _easy, darling. I’ve got you._

Hubert tightens his fingers involuntarily and comes with a gasp, fouling his trousers the way he hadn’t since he’d been a boy.

It’s pathetic. Repulsive. And yet he can’t bring himself to move until he hears the distant sound of Ferdinand’s door opening and closing, unfamiliar footsteps shuffling away.

He cleans himself up with trembling hands and finally he can breathe again.

* * *

The truth is too big to hide from no matter how hard he tries. He buries himself in work and training, he studies spells until he falls asleep at his desk. And yet all he can think of is Ferdinand, letting countless strangers touch him and take him. He can no longer mistake his fury for anything but what it is- _jealousy._ That only makes it harder to bear.

Hubert feels like his skin is crawling, like he’s burning up. Maybe he’s going mad. All he knows is that he can’t go on like this.

He finds Ferdinand in the ruins of the chapel. Ferdinand goes there sometimes, maybe to pray to the dead gods, maybe simply to be alone. He’s too tired to be quiet, and he doesn’t truly intend to come upon Ferdinand unaware either way.

“What do you want,” Ferdinand says without turning.

Hubert stops a few paces behind him. “I want-” he starts. He still hasn’t quite figured that part out. He wants to stop feeling like he’s being torn to shreds every time Ferdinand takes someone else to bed.

“Have I been more whorish than usual?” Ferdinand asks, turning. The moonlight cradles his face, turning him into an angel or perhaps a demon. He looks to be made of fire and ice, a sculpture as beautiful as any of the false saints. Hubert wants to know the names of every man who dared touch him so he can cut their hands off. 

He has to look away to force himself back to some sort of reasonable train of thought. “I want you to stop,” he says at last.

“Excuse me?” Ferdinand asks, furious as he steps closer, invading Hubert’s space. “That is not for you to decide.”

“I want you to _stop,”_ Hubert repeats, holding his ground. Ferdinand’s face twists into fury and it should be ugly but it isn’t. It belongs to Hubert and Hubert alone.

“I will do what I like,” Ferdinand hisses, _“who_ I like. As many times I like, so long as it pleases me. What business is it of yours?”

It is none of Hubert’s business. That doesn’t change how desperately he needs this.

 _“Please,”_ he says and Ferdinand’s eyes widen in shock.

It only lasts a moment. 

“No,” Ferdinand says with a cruelty that cuts Hubert to the bone. His gut aches. He fears that if he looks down it will be to see his blood dripping to the dusty floor.

“It is the only thing that makes me feel at all _good_ these days,” Ferdinand continues. “I do not expect you to understand what it is like to desire another’s touch.”

Hubert swallows, trying to keep his breathing even. He knows he is a pale shadow of any of Ferdinand’s other lovers, but he is a man, is he not? Surely his touch is as good as any other, if that is all Ferdinand wants. And if he offers it, maybe Ferdinand will take it, and then he won’t have to go off and find it somewhere else.

Before Hubert can second guess himself he steps forward and grabs the lapels of Ferdinand’s coat, dragging him forward and bringing their lips together with more violence than tenderness.

Ferdinand gasps and Hubert takes advantage to press his tongue into his mouth, his eyes shut tight while Ferdinand lets him, shocked.

Finally Ferdinand roughly shoves him back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” he snarls, furious. “I am sorry that you had to waste your time on me and my whorish ways when you could be attending to your lady.”

Ferdinand turns to storm out and Hubert brings a trembling hand to his own lips, slick with Ferdinand’s spit and aching faintly in the cool night air.

“I do,” he forces out bitterly. He should have expected rejection, and yet it still feels like ice cracking under his feet, it feels like drowning.

When Ferdinand stops and turns back Hubert finds himself lashing out with anger. “I do know what it’s like to desire another’s touch. But I’m not so- so- _undiscerning_ as you.”

“You want me,” Ferdinand says as though accusing him of a crime. In that moment Hubert knows he is guilty, and yet he can’t bring himself to admit it.

“You do,” Ferdinand says, taking a step closer. “Say it.”

When Hubert looks at him he expects to see pity, disdain. He doesn’t expect the violent triumph setting Ferdinand’s eyes aflame.

 _“Say it,”_ Ferdinand all but snarls, and it almost looks like a smirk. “Say you want me. Say it, or I’ll leave. Say it!” 

No other threat could have worked half so well. 

When he forces out the words it’s as if he’s reaching into his chest to crack open his ribs and pull out his still-beating heart. “I want you,” he manages to whisper.

Ferdinand gasps as if this admission is somehow unexpected. Instead of savoring his victory he steps forward and drags Hubert into another kiss. Hubert can hardly believe his own senses, but those are Ferdinand’s lips opening under his own, Ferdinand’s hair sliding through his gloved hands, Ferdinand’s chest pressed to his hard enough that Hubert feels the buttons of Ferdinand’s jacket leaving imprints on his skin.

When Ferdinand pulls away Hubert finds himself dizzy and helpless, his hands still grasping at Ferdinand’s upper arms as though that was the only thing keeping him standing. 

“Come on,” Ferdinand says, taking Hubert’s hand and leading him out of the chapel.

Hubert follows in a daze, and then they’re in Ferdinand’s room and Ferdinand shoves him up against the wall to kiss him, nimble fingers moving to the fastenings of his cloak. Hubert hasn’t the ability to help him, not when he still can’t quite wrap his mind around the sensation of Ferdinand’s hot mouth against him.

Is this what he’s like with his other lovers? This desperate and furious? Hubert has heard all the stories- stories of gentle touches and caresses, sweet whispers. Maybe Ferdinand wants this over as quickly as possible, wants to leave Hubert appeased enough to leave him to his other, more pleasurable, pursuits.

If this is all he’ll ever have of Ferdinand, then he’ll damn well _have_ it.

His clumsy trembling fingers move to try and push away Ferdinand’s armor, to get at any bit of bare skin. Somehow between them they manage to take off their outer things and finally Hubert pulls off his gloves, letting them fall carelessly to the ground so he can card his fingers through the wild mane of Ferdinand’s hair. It’s softer than he imagined, cool and smooth like silk. Hubert wants to take it by the fistful and never let go.

When he moves a hand to cradle Ferdinand’s face, dragging his thumb over the constellation of freckles dusting Ferdinand’s cheek, Ferdinand turns and pulls two of Hubert’s fingers into his mouth. When he sucks on them Hubert’s knees threaten to buckle and he can’t quite help a small shocked noise.

“Bed,” Ferdinand says, his voice ragged. He grabs Hubert by the front of his shirt and pulls, manhandling him easily before shoving him down on the bed.

Hubert is acutely aware of the fact that he’s not the first _guest_ to grace these sheets. Soon enough he’s too overwhelmed to think, and maybe that’s for the best. Ferdinand has managed to divest the both of them of their shirts and Hubert can only stare as Ferdinand’s wicked mouth dances over his chest and down, searing him to the bone.

Ferdinand laughs, low and dark, and Hubert feels his face heat. Worse yet, he feels tears stinging at his eyes. He knows what he looks like- pale and scrawny from too many hours spent in dark rooms bent over books. His is not the obvious grace and strength of Ferdinand’s other lovers. He is a purely functional tool, strong enough to strangle someone in the night or shove a knife in their gut. But he does not wear heavy armor or carry weapons. He does not have the toned body that comes from long hours spent on horseback.

“Have you done this before?” Ferdinand asks as he opens the buttons of Hubert’s trousers.

He’s embarrassed at the question, at his body, at this painfully intimate act itself. And no- of course the answer is no. Even if he had the time to engage in such frivolities, who would want him, ghoulish as he is?

Is Ferdinand mocking him? Has he made some grievous error? He grits his teeth and glares in response. “Not as many times as _you.”_

“So no,” Ferdinand says with an easy smile, pulling Hubert’s straining cock out of his hopelessly wrinkled trousers.

This has been a mistake, Hubert sees it plain as day. This has been a mistake and he needs to put a stop to it before it goes any further. Ferdinand doesn’t want him, he can’t. This is all just some sort of power play, a chance to humiliate Hubert the way Ferdinand had felt humiliated that first evening when Hubert had confronted him. Ferdinand has thoroughly proven that he has the ability to put Hubert under his power and now Hubert finds he is finished with this tawdry game.

Just as he’s about to sit up, to leave, Ferdinand takes his cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head.

Hubert moans at the sensation, the wet heat engulfing him. He should leave but he can’t because he’s never felt this good before. He chances a glance down and sees Ferdinand’s head bobbing between his legs, sucking him down-

 _Fuck,_ but it’s the best thing he’s ever seen and it’s too much all at once. He reaches down and buries his hand in Ferdinand’s bright copper curls just to prove to himself that this is _real_ and somehow, it doesn’t stop.

The feeling of Ferdinand’s mouth around him is enough to leave him breathless, and it doesn’t _stop-_ Ferdinand bobs up and down like this is nothing to him and Hubert is burning up with how good it is. He’s shaking and gasping for breath, hurtling closer and closer to the edge, until-

Ferdinand stops, grinning.

“Damn you,” Hubert manages, and in response Ferdinand laughs.

He pulls back and strips them of the rest of their clothing, and all Hubert can do is watch the way the candle light plays over Ferdinand’s skin as he pulls out a vial of oil and slicks his fingers, reaching behind himself.

He can’t help the way his eyes widen, surprised. This wasn’t what he expected, not this- Ferdinand’s thick fingers inside himself, moving in and out. He certainly wasn’t expecting the bliss over Ferdinand’s face, the arch of his back

“They say-” Hubert says, only to break off and lick his lips. Surely this isn’t real. “They say you prefer it the other way around.”

He’d been prepared for the possibility of this the other way around- Ferdinand claiming him, owning him, crowing over the ways in which Hubert let his guard down. But this…

“Sometimes,” Ferdinand says with an easy smile, so casual even now, when Hubert can hear the obscene slick sounds of him moving within himself, can _see_ Ferdinand’s fingers moving, opening himself up like a whore.

And it’s- it’s-

Hubert can only flush with tension. Does Ferdinand not want to fuck him? Is he not as good as his other lovers?

“Don’t-” Hubert tries, “don’t make exceptions for me.”

Unexpectedly, Ferdinand laughs once more. “Do you touch yourself?” he asks as he pushes a third finger inside himself.

“What sort of question is that?” Hubert demands, as offended as he is aroused. “I- I’m a man like any other. I have… desires.”

“Do you touch yourself, inside,” Ferdinand asks. “Like how I’m touching myself now.”

Leave it to Von Aegir to ask the most inopportune questions. Just because Hubert is allowing this, now, doesn’t mean that Ferdinand is privy to his private acts.

“I- what business is that of yours?”

Ferdinand laughs. “You couldn’t take me,” he says, pumping his fingers into himself steadily.

Hubert knows he is no one’s ideal sexual partner. But that doesn’t mean he’s- he’s- _deficient._ He has all the working parts of everyone else, dammit. He could- he _could..._

“I could,” Hubert says defensively. He can take anything any of Ferdinand’s other lovers had taken. He can take Ferdinand’s cock even if it splits him in half.

“No,” Ferdinand whispers, adjusting himself on Hubert’s lap and reaching back to grasp his cock, sinking down-

Hubert whimpers as he’s enveloped in heat and pressure, his own sounds buried under Ferdinand’s shameless moan. The bliss lasts a second before Ferdinand braces his hands on Hubert’s chest and then he’s moving, rising up and down and arching his back, his face flushed and his hair a mess of copper strands haloing his face.

It’s perfect, and private, and so much more than Hubert could have ever imagined. He lets out a shocked breath and clutches at Ferdinand’s hips, and then he’s too gone to think anymore.

It’s so easy to give in, so _good._ Ferdinand makes wounded little sounds while his body clenches around Hubert’s cock. Hubert is too afraid to move and ruin this beautiful thing the way his blood-stained hands ruin everything else, and then Ferdinand moans, and says-

“Fuck me-”

Hubert sets his jaw and _moves,_ unable to hold himself back anymore, bracing his feet on the bed for leverage before letting himself fuck up into Ferdinand’s welcoming body.

 _“Yes,”_ Ferdinand moans, “Like that- just like that- keep going.”

“Must you- _speak?”_ Hubert manages, his voice coming out strangled and heavy with pleasure, and Ferdinand laughs, bending to kiss Hubert’s lips and thrusting his tongue into Hubert’s mouth. It feels like a blessing, silencing the both of them.

And then Hubert’s mind is finally silent too, the world narrowed to the room, the bed, Ferdinand shaking apart above him. He makes unashamed sounds of pleasure and Hubert devours them, swallows them up with greedy lips and tongue, his hands clutching so tightly at Ferdinand’s hips that it must hurt. There will be bruises there tomorrow- imprints of Hubert’s fingers over Ferdinand’s skin like a brand.

He’d never imagined Ferdinand could be so hot against him, so eager and welcoming, so tight around his cock. Hubert wants it to last forever but every moment winds him tighter, burns up more and more of him until his body is singing. Finally the tension shatters into blinding pleasure and he lets out a sound like a strangled shout, coming with his back arched, trying to bury himself so deep inside Ferdinand that he’ll never have to leave, his hands tightening claw-like over Ferdinand’s thighs.

Ferdinand gasps and keeps riding him through it, every movement a sweet agony over Hubert’s over-sensitized flesh until he’s coming too, fisting his cock until he spills over Hubert’s stomach.

The aftermath is tense as Ferdinand moves to drop into the sheets beside Hubert, his back nearly pressed to the wall and one of his thighs still draped over Hubert’s hips.

They’re finished now. Ferdinand has taken what he wanted and Hubert is ready to be discarded.

“Do you have a cloth?” he asks with a grimace as he contemplates Ferdinand’s spend on his chest.

Instead of being the slightest bit of use, Ferdinand trails his fingers through the mess as if it’s a particular point of fascination.

“No,” Ferdinand says at last, dragging his fingers down Hubert’s chest.

Hubert grimaces, twisting away. “They say you’re more considerate towards your conquests than this.” He reaches down and grabs at the first bit of cloth he can reach- Ferdinand’s cravat- and brings it up to wipe at himself half heartedly.

“You’re so focused on what they say,” Ferdinand murmurs, moving to drape his arm over him. 

How can he be so relaxed now, when Hubert feels on the verge of vibrating out of his own skin?

Ferdinand traces an arrow wound on his shoulder, the long-healed slash of a sword over his chest, an old bruise from a brawler’s fist marking his side, unerringly finding every sign of failure and deficiency written over his skin.

Hubert breathes out in a huff. He’s finished with this false tenderness. If he’s to be like everyone else, he’d better leave.

He sits up, dislodging Ferdinand’s idly wandering fingers. His skin crawls until he finds his shirt and pulls it on, safe at last with his ghoulish body covered up once more. It will be easy now. He will leave, and-

“Must I share you with Edelgard even tonight?” Ferdinand asks, his voice a wounded whisper.

Hubert stiffens, pausing. What else did Ferdinand think they were doing here? He can’t help but lash out, even as he tries to bite his tongue. “It seems I must share you with half the garrison and the entire mage corps. We all make sacrifices.”

He starts on his buttons, his heart pounding. This is over now. It’s over. Ferdinand has gotten his taste and so has Hubert. This night will haunt him for months to come as Ferdinand finds his pleasure in the arms of countless other men.

“What if you didn’t have to share me with anyone?” Ferdinand asks, deceptively mild.

Hubert pauses, too cynical for hope.

“If you didn’t have to share me- would you stay with me tonight?”

Hubert can’t help imagining what that might be like, letting his guard down enough to sleep here, pressed close together. He could let himself pretend, for just one night, that he alone might be enough to keep Ferdinand satisfied. But it’s absurd. Hasn’t Hubert been pathetic enough already?

He sighs and goes back to his buttons, not looking at Ferdinand. “You were right, earlier,” he forces himself to say. As much as he wishes he had a claim on the infuriating man, he doesn't. “It’s no business of mine. Do as you like.”

“Maybe you were right, instead,” Ferdinand says, reaching out to press his hand to Hubert’s hip, still bare. “Maybe I should be more discerning.”

Hubert freezes once more, unsure that this is really happening. Can it be possible that Ferdinand truly means it? Surely he’s not cruel enough to lie, not now. 

Ferdinand pulls on the edge of Hubert’s sleeve. When Hubert refuses to respond, he does it again.

“Stay,” he whispers when Hubert finally looks back. “Please stay.”

For a long moment they’re at a stalemate, but there’s no guile in Ferdinand’s eyes and finally Hubert looks away, his heart pounding hard enough that surely Ferdinand can hear it. Is it so wrong to take what’s on offer? Even if it only lasts one night, maybe the inevitable pain when it ends might be worth it. “What if you kick me in your sleep.”

“If one of us has to worry about what the other might do to them in their sleep, then it should be me,” Ferdinand counters.

Hubert carefully lowers himself back into bed, still wearing his shirt.

Ferdinand smiles as he wraps an arm around Hubert’s middle, dragging him closer.

“Must you- _cling_ to me like a viper?” Hubert asks, his voice muffled in the pillow. 

“Oh yes,” Ferdinand says. “How else can I be sure that you will not sneak off in the middle of the night to go polish your lady’s boots?”

“That- that’s not what it’s like,” Hubert mumbles, annoyed. Ferdinand tightens his arms, holding him close like he never intends to let go. Hubert swallows and tells himself that hope is for fools. But how can he not hope, with Ferdinand’s broad chest pressed to his back, Ferdinand’s warm breath ghosting over his neck. Some of the tension drains out of him, his muscles unwind. Tonight, at least, he can have this much.

“Good night, Hubert,” Ferdinand whispers, too familiar and yet so perfect all the same.

“...Good night,” Hubert says at last. “Ferdinand.”

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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